


Marriage. Mortgage. Minivan...or Not.

by AntaresChild



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, Poor Life Choices, Strangers, gateway to smut, how about you finish this one, meet in bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 11:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12911223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntaresChild/pseuds/AntaresChild
Summary: Two strangers meet in a bar. One is trying to make a choice and the other wants what she wants.Note: I should be doing other productive things, but this wanted to be written instead. I have no intent on finishing it, but maybe you do. If so, feel free to write the second chapter and let me know how it ends.





	Marriage. Mortgage. Minivan...or Not.

Loud music, alcohol, and shouted conversations were Clarke’s soundtrack to trying to wrap her brain around life.

To wed, or not to wed? That was the question.

Marriage. Mortgage. Minivans. Mini-Me…maybe multiple mini-mes.

Was she ready?

Bell was going to propose tonight. Octavia and Raven had accidentally let that slip, and Clarke had found the ring. A 2-karat solitaire. It was nice.

Really nice. 

One word, and it would be hers...along with the man who wanted to give it to her. They’d get that mortgage together and, once they had the garage that came with it, the minivan. And once they had the minivan, they would finish the picture off with a mini-me.

The dream.

It could all be hers.

“Can I get you another drink?” the bartender asked, sending a look at Clarke’s empty pint. 

Clarke pushed the empty toward her. “Sure. Thanks. Same thing.”

The bartender nodded and poured another beer, pushing it in front of Clarke.

“Thanks,” she muttered as the bartender moved on to other customers. 

It had been a long time since Clarke drank alone on a Friday night…any night, really. But a weekend? She was pretty sure this was her first time solo in a bar during prowling hour. She never went to bars alone. She was a pack animal by nature. But tonight, she needed to think without the usual suspects around.

And maybe—just maybe—she wanted to test herself to see if it was time to settle…to see if she was ready to quit the game before she ever really played it.

Her date with Bell was in an hour...her date with destiny.

God, why did thinking that feel like giving up? She should be excited, right?

She was. She really was.

She loved Bell. She loved Octavia. She loved their family. She wanted to be part of that family.

Her parents loved Bell. Bell loved her parents.

It was perfect. Everything was so goddamn perfect.

So why was she drinking alone on a Friday night an hour before she knew Bell planned on proposing?

Why did she want to get drunk? 

She’d only had three beers, so she was miles away from where she wanted to be on that front, but she could get there with a few shots.

She could still get drunk if she wanted to.

And dammit, she wanted to.

“Is this seat taken?” a female voice asked over her shoulder and Clarke didn’t even look up to see who it was.

“Nope,” she said, popping the _p_ sound before taking a pull from the pint.

“You’re a beer girl, huh?” the same voice asked, and this time Clarke looked over.

Green eyes, chestnut hair, slim build, and Angelina Jolie lips. When Clarke caught herself staring at the lips, she looked back at her beer.

“Not really,” she said. “I usually prefer shots. Just not sure I can trust myself with them at the moment.”

“Yeah?” the woman said. “Why not?”

“Big night,” Clarke said, sneaking another look at the hottie…her tight jeans, those sweet boots. Thank God the girl’s arm was blocking the view of her chest. Clarke was pretty sure she would have looked.

Maybe she’d had more to drink than she thought.

“And why is it a big night?” Miss Green Eyes asked.

Clarke looked back at her beer. “My boyfriend is going to propose.”

“Ah,” the woman replied, not sounding put off. “So you came to a gay bar because…?”

“I’m bisexual,” Clarke said, shocked when the words popped out of her mouth so easily. She felt both relieved and guilty at the same time. “I mean, I’ve only ever been with my fiancé. We’ve been together since we were, like, twelve.”

“Your fiancé?” the girl asked. “I thought you said he was proposing tonight.”

Right. She was kind of getting ahead of herself on that.

Maybe it was a sign. Maybe she said 'fiancé' because that was her fate and all this was just the theatrics Clarke needed to go through to pretend her love life had some drama when it really didn’t.

She was one of the lucky ones.

She was going to marry her childhood sweetheart. It was like a fairy tale.

“He is,” Clarke muttered, spinning her glass around in front of her. The sudden urge to chug its contents and order a round of shots filled her.

That would be stupid. 

_Do it._

Clarke stared at the glass and didn’t move.

“Have you ever kissed a girl?” the woman asked, sounding honestly curious.

Clarke shook her head. “No. And I keep thinking about that, you know? Marriage. Fidelity…I say yes, and I never get to kiss anyone else again.”

Man, she was talking a lot. But it felt good. Right. Cathartic...like all her thoughts had spent too much time in her head and needed to get out without the person on the other side throwing Bellamy in her face.

Yes, she knew her thoughts betrayed him. Clarke was very aware of that. The pressure of that was enough to make her feel like she was going to pop some days.

But Clarke didn't feel that with this stranger. Maybe it was the alcohol, but talking to her was...easy. Natural. Comfortable. Like a friend she didn't know yet.

“And you want to kiss someone else?” the woman asked.

Clarke shrugged, not even looking for a lie. “I think about it.”

“Then maybe you’re not ready to say yes to marriage.”

Clarke looked over, the green eyes catching her off guard for a moment before she remembered what she wanted to say. “But he’s proposing tonight.”

“That means _he’s_ ready,” the woman said kindly. “You don’t have to be on the same timeline as him. You can tell him you’re not ready.”

Clarke knew that was technically true…but “He bought a ring.”

“That was his choice. It doesn’t obligate you.”

The stranger was making too much sense. “But jewelers are assholes. They don’t let you take engagement rings back.”

“Not a reason to get married,” the woman said.

Just then, the bartender came back, eyes on the chestnut-haired girl—who must have had a decent rack because the bartender checked it out as she asked, “Anything I can get you?”

“Tequila shots,” Clarke said before her neighbor could speak. “On me.”

The bartender nodded. “Coming up.”

A perfect brow arched over green eyes as the woman sent her an assessing look. “Tequila, huh?”

No. Not tequila. Clarke knew herself well. She was about three shots away from sloppy and one shot away from ill-advised. What was she thinking?

She shrugged as if none of that was relevant. “I figure it’s the least I can do for talking your ear off.”

The woman smiled. “You’re not talking my ear off. I’m the one who asked to sit here.”

“Yeah. But I’m glad you did. I like talking to you. You have a good vibe.”

The woman let out a soft laugh. “Good vibe?”

Clarke nodded and chanced another look over. Fuck. How did people get eyeliner to look that good. She’d always sucked at it and designed her makeup scheme around mascara only, but…fuck. “You have great eyeliner, too. Fucking on point.”

That got a full smile and another laugh. “Thanks.”

Clarke glanced around the bar, noting all the types of women present before looking back at her neighbor. By leaps and miles, she was sitting next to the hottest woman in the bar. “You could have any chick in here, so it’s only fair I buy you a drink while you listen to me whine about a dude. Pretty sure that’s not why you came here tonight.”

“No,” the woman said as the bartender slid shots in front of them. She nodded her thanks and watched the other woman leave again before adding. “I came here to get laid.”

Well, that was…honest.

Visions of what that might look like purred through Clarke’s mind as she reached for the shot glasses. 

“Well, look around and take your pick,” she said, pushing one of the shots toward her neighbor. “You look amazing. I’m pretty sure you can have your first choice of partners tonight.”

The woman picked up the shot glass, holding Clarke’s gaze as she said, “That remains to be seen.” Then clacked the cheap shot glass against Clarke’s and said, “Bottoms up.”

Clarke drank the shot in one pull, setting it down on the table and immediately wanting another one.

“I have an idea,” the woman said. It was fun to watch her lips move. They looked soft and had an aura of skill about them.

Clarke was starting to have some ideas, too. Lots of them.

Shit.

“Why don’t you call your boyfriend,” those pretty lips were saying, “and tell him you want to find out what it’s like to kiss a girl. Tell him you want to know if you like it.”

Oh, Clarke would like it all right. Just the idea of it had her thighs pinching together which was totally not like her.

She’d never responded so fluidly to anyone like this, not to mention a woman. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the visions of minivans, but damn did she want to know what it felt like to press up against this woman’s body. She wanted to touch that hair and grab that ass and feel that slender thigh between hers. She wanted to know what lips that soft felt like and what those eyes looked like when they saw only her.

Fuck. She was screwed.

She couldn’t say yes to the ring. She couldn’t get engaged tonight.

She just couldn’t.

“I wanna dance with you,” Clarke said, surprising herself. She’d never asked someone to dance in her life. She’d always just danced with Bell and he hadn’t really had to ask her since they were fourteen. It was always just assumed.

“I dance dirty,” the stranger replied.

 _Thank God._ “Mind if I make you prove that?”

Clarke knew she’d surprised the girl with her forwardness by the way her eyebrows shot up before she shook her head. “Not one bit. Fuck me standing up out there, if you like. But I want to be clear that this is one-night only engagement. I’m here for work. I leave tomorrow. I won’t call you, and I don’t give a damn what happens with your boyfriend. I’m just looking to feel good tonight. It’s been a rough week.”

Clarke had stopped listening at _fuck me standing up._

Holy shit. Was this a dream, or what?

Clarke pulled out her phone and opened a message to Bell.

“What are you doing?” the woman asked.

“Texting my boyfriend.”

“And saying?”

Good question. Her fingers faltered over the keyboard…hesitating. Then she hammered out, _Hey, Bell. You know how I’ve always wanted to kiss a girl? Tonight I have a chance…and I’m going to take it. I know we have a date planned, but I have to do this. I’ll call you tomorrow._

Send.

Holy shit. Did she really just press send on that?

Holy shit. She really just pressed send on that.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

What had she done?

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” the woman teased. “What did you say?”

Clarke showed her the screen and the woman’s eyebrows popped up when she saw what it said.

“Wow. Ballsy,” she said, looking Clarke over as if thinking she might have misjudged her. “I’m impressed.”

“He’s going to freak,” Clarke said, taking her phone back in case he replied fast enough to force her to see it.

The woman nodded. “I’m sure he is. But it sounds like you two have talked about this before.”

Clarke nodded. “Yeah. He knows. I think he just always thought he’d be in the room when it happened.”

The stranger studied her. “But you don’t want him in the room.”

Clarke hesitated before shaking her head. “No. I’m a one-on-one girl. I don’t like splitting focus.”

“Mmm,” the woman said. “Well put. I’m the same way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” There was a beat of silence before Miss Green Eyes turned to face her. “Anywhere you don’t want me touching you while we’re out on that dance floor?”

The question short-circuited Clarke’s brain for a moment, flooding it with images. “Uh…just keep it above clothes, I guess?”

Clarke could have sworn those green eyes sparkled. “I can handle that.” 

Thank God. If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake up. Ever. She just wanted to explore the body in front of her and pretend nothing else mattered. She wanted to feel...everything.

But she should probably follow the stranger's lead and establish some boundaries before she started acting like a cat on catnip. “I…uh, anywhere you don’t want me touching?”

Eyes steady, the stranger shook her head. “Feel free to do whatever you want. And if you want to go back to my hotel, just say _fuck me now_ and I’ll spend all night showing you what it feels like to be with a girl.”

Clarke almost said the words right there and then, but it felt a bit desperate. Besides, she really wanted to feel what it felt like to dance with a woman—not as a joke at a party or to tease Bell.

She wanted to know how it felt to dance with a woman who wanted to seduce her…and Clarke wanted to seduce her back.

She wanted that. She wanted to see what those green eyes looked like when they were on the edge of control in the middle of a dance floor. She wanted to see what they looked like when they wanted her--really wanted her.

Standing from her bar stool, Clarke held her hand out to the other woman. “May I have this dance?”

The woman stood, taking Clarke’s hand carefully in hers as she looked her up and down with a gaze that could not be misinterpreted. “Fuck yeah.”

Then the stranger led her to the dance floor.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In the mouth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14069676) by [minorcaveat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minorcaveat/pseuds/minorcaveat)




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